Sunday, May 17, 2009
Beer: Gritty's Pub Ale
Date: May 14th, 2009
Place: Freeport, ME
I was going to write a book. That was my plan, at least. Or, if not a book, a blog. It seems it’s a lot easier to write a blog. Then you can pay someone to print it and bind it. Which becomes a book.
The book was going to be about my brother and I. About how we became best friends.
We weren’t close growing up. He moved back and forth from my mom and dad’s house, and I stayed put. He moved away and made new friends and learned about new bands and moved back in and had a shirt with a Philly Blunt logo and it and I was sure that meant he was currently doing drugs and the bands he listened to made me think the same. I remember sneaking his Weezer tape into my player and I loved it. He had a trunk with all his stuff. It moved West 20 miles then back. I don’t know how many times it happened. It seemed like a lot. When he moved out the first time, I guess that’s when I decided we weren’t friends any more.
I can’t remember a lot about growing up with Breshen. I remember blind rage at times. I remember fighting, him getting hit with a board in the head and how I would have taken a bullet for him, walking to the store to get Fireballs, hot summers and him leaving.
He went to sea at seventeen. I went to college the year later. We saw each other every few years. He got married. I skipped his wedding because I was in New Zealand. I got married and he skipped my wedding because he was in Iraq. He became a Chief and I became a designer.
I found out he was moving to Maine for a year and I was going to document it. My book was going to be about us. I was going to write about getting to know him more and learn about what he thought of our childhood and how was it on his side, in Huntsville and in the Navy, how was being a husband? A soldier?, what do you like in particular, damn I’d realize there’s so much I don’t know about him, come to think of it, there’s so much I don’t know about me, who are our ancestors? What boat did whomever come over on? I know part of us if Indian, but what about the rest? I live on a genetic island, I don’t know my brothers, I don’t know my family, I have run and I have made something of myself and I haven’t shared that with any of them.
Instead, over the past year, we’ve had a weekend, a lunch, a dinner, and a beer.
Trying to cram twelve years worth of life into twelve ounces of beer is far too much. So we didn’t - just sipped our brew, hugged, drove off.